Shatter
by earth warrior
Summary: Canada has never been in his basement before. And by the time he realizes that there's a very good reason why, it's too late...
1. Chapter 1

I've never been in my basement before.

I've gone into every nook and cranny in my two-story home painted yellow with white trim and a weather-vain and birds almost perpetually perched on the roof. But I've never been in the basement. It's become something of an unspoken rule ever since I moved in. I don't know when I came up with it, or even when I noticed that after three years of residing in the same house I'd been everywhere in it except for one place.

But once I did consciously decide this, that made me want to venture in there even less.

Once when Alfred came over he saw the door and asked me, "What's down there?"

"I don't know," I answered.

He didn't ask if I wanted to go down and find out. He just dropped the subject completely and we never spoke of it again. I believe that maybe, even though we didn't think much of it at the time, he knows what I know. That the basement is a dangerous place. It is a sinister, vile place where everything that is evil and terrible lurks around every corner and under every floorboard. I'm not sure how I came to that conclusion, but I know as surely as I know that my name is Matthew Williams and that I am Canada, that I will never go into that basement.

oOo

_Matthew… Matthew…_

It knows my name.

I used to hear it when I would walk past. It would hiss like a snake as it flicked freezing air at me from under the flimsy wooden door. My heart would speed up, my throat would constrict and I could barely breathe. I ignored it as best I could.

Then one day I heard eerie and strangled screams from the other side. I don't walk by anymore- I run. I avoid that section of the house as much as I can so that I won't hear it whispering my name or screaming, and so I won't feel that growing wonder - _What _does _live down there? _

oOo

It's seven o'clock. At seven o'clock every day I make the journey from the kitchen to my office to do paperwork. I don't want to go, doing paperwork is no fun anyway, but it's part of my job. I have millions of people depending on me. So I have to go. I have to pass by the basement door.

"This old man, he played one. He played knickknack on my thumb," I sing whenever I'm near there so I won't be so scared. "With a knickknack pattywack give a dog a bone, this old man came rolling home."

I'm almost halfway down the hall, when I hear it. It starts out soft at first, as if it's not quite sure if I'm even there. But once it feels my heartbeat and the fear radiating off of me in waves it knows I'm there and gets louder.

_Matthew…Come here…Matthew… _

Come here? It's never said that before. I stop dead in my tracks. What do I do? I'm not listening to it's request, obviously, but is it really wise to continue down the hall? The stack of government papers in the office can wait until tomorrow right?

No. No they can't. I refuse to let that…_it_… down _there_ get in the way of my duties as a country. Even if the government is going to do whatever it wants regardless of whether or not I give them permission.

So I square my shoulders and keep walking though the calls get louder and louder until they're all I can hear even if they're still only a whisper. Suddenly, it opens, just an inch. I freeze for the second time in the past minute. It stays that way, suspended there, even as icy cold air whooshes out at me, blowing my hair back and making me cough because it's dusty and thick.

_SLAM! _I nearly jump out of my skin, and I can't contain a gasp as it forcibly shuts itself. My mind is screaming at me to run, to get out of the house and never come back, but I can't. I can't move, I can't think. All I can do is stare and stare and stare at the door until I realize it's coming towards me.

_What? _What's happening? Its getting bigger and closer and louder too. _Come here…Come here… _And my heart is beating as if I'd just run a marathon but my breathing is slow and even. I start to count my breaths for some reason until I loose count around seven because I can't focus enough to keep track. And everything is getting sort of blurry and I can't feel my limbs anymore and I'm suddenly aware that I'm really sleepy even though I was fine a few minutes ago.

The door is getting closer. It's getting closer because I'm moving towards it, and for some reason I know that that's a bad thing but… I can't think… and…and I don't know why… but…what was I talking about…?

My hand touches metal. I snap into awareness and I try to let go and jump back. But I find that my body won't obey me anymore. My hand opens the door slowly, shaking. The hinges creek and groan. I look down into the darkness of the basement, unable to see past the third step.

_I'm not going down there._, I mentally tell it, somehow knowing that it will hear me. An invisible force crashes into my shoulder and I'm plunged into the blackness

I didn't know it was possible for the world to spin even when you can't see it, but it is. My head hits the steps, then my back, then I'm twisted around and my knees hit then I'm falling so fast I can't even tell where I'm falling or what's getting hit because everything hurts so terribly I can't keep tabs on all the individual injuries and it won't end, it's just a chorus of _bang! bang! bang!_ and I swear I can hear someone laughing. Laughing as I fall down the steps.

Then there's nothing.

No sound, no noise. Nothing. _Am I still alive? _I blink several times, so I guess that means yes.

_Matthew… _

Oh God, it's still here. I stand as quickly as I can without falling over. "W-who are you?" My voice cracks twice despite my best efforts to sound like I'm not afraid. "What do you want?" What am I going to do? It certainly won't let me leave will it? I'll be stuck here until…actually, since I can't die, I could be in here forever! Not good, this is not good at all.

_You're going to do me a little favor. _I back up a few steps on instinct; I hadn't honestly expected an answer. But what could a basement possibly want from me? It's just a room. An extremely evil room that could very well intend to use my skin as wallpaper and my innards to hang from the ceiling, not that I'm even thinking about things like that right now because I'm not. I'm not even considering what I'll look like with my arms and legs ripped from my body, or how awful it is that I know I would live through that.

_I need something. _It says in that hissing, whisper-like tone.

"What?"

There's a loud growl and a crash and clawing and more growling like a wild animal. A dim light flickers on from out of nowhere, but I'm too scared of whatever is behind the far wall, whatever is trying to _tear down _the wall, to wonder where that light came from.

I scream and fall back. My hand burns in pain instantly, and when I pick it up I see that a piece of broken glass has lodged itself into my palm. Blood is everywhere. That only makes the thing behind the wall go nuts. It's ripping and grinding and scratching and clawing at the wood.

_Blood. I need blood…_

I gulped. "You- you need what?" I must have misheard. It did _not_ just say what it sounds like it said.

A roar comes from behind the wall, and I know I've just given a horribly wrong answer. _Come on Canada. Try _not_ to get yourself murdered today, okay? Is that really too much for you?, _I think. Okay, okay, I need to do something. I have to give it what it wants, right? Or it'll get out, right? Wait, how did I know that?

Whatever, I'll figure that out later. Right now I just need to do _something_ and stop just standing here with a stupid blank look on my face!

But…blood? Where the heck am I supposed to get blood? Maybe…we have a slaughter house right across town. As awful as it sounds I'm sure they would sell me a few gallons of cow blood if I asked for it.

_You stupid, feckless child. I don't want the blood of swine!_ it says, more like yells at me, because its voice raises. Only, it doesn't raise, not literally, because sometime in all this (and I'm not quite sure when) I stopped hearing the voice out loud and began hearing it in my head. It's ringing in my ears and makes my brain feel like little elves with sledgehammers have taken up residence in my skull. It hurts quite a bit, now that I think of it- but somehow that revelation pales in comparison to my other one: there is a _demon_ in my _basement_, and it can _get into my head_! It is talking to me, not aloud, but in my brain. If that doesn't make the list of 'worst things that could possibly happen' I don't know what does.

I close my eyes and try to block it out. Maybe if I concentrate, I can keep it from talking to me. Granted, that could also be a terrible idea that will end up backfiring when it breaks out, eats my face, and goes on a bloody rampage through the country. But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. So I picture a wall going up around my brain, keeping anything the creature has to say to me out. Unfortunately, I quickly learn that putting up barriers like that takes practice, which I've had none of. It crushes my feeble attempt at a mental fortress in a second. _Listen to me! _Ouch, he is seriously starting to give me a headache._ I need fresh, warm blood. I need the blood of Canada… and you are going to give it to me._

What?

**What?**

He…it…and…I can't…

Oh my God…

"No!" But its no more than a whisper because I'm so scared I can barely speak. Even as I say it though I know that there are no other options. If I don't give it my blood, the blood of Canada, it'll come take the blood itself. I am sure of this. The same way I knew not to go into the basement (yeah, and look where that got me), I know that the demon (because that's exactly what it is) will get what it wants whether I give it willingly or not.

I stand again, feeling its nonexistent eyes boring holes in me. I rip the shard of glass out of my palm before I have any time to think about it. Because if I honestly had any time to consider all this I'd be halfway across town by now. But I can't run from this problem; I've been avoiding it for three years, and now it's forcing me to deal with it.

I walk to the wall, trembling and barely managing not to fall over, and smear my bloody hand across it. The demon's growling and frantic clawing from the other side subside slightly and I streak it down the same section. Stabs of pain shoot through my whole arm again, but I clench my teeth through the throbbing. I blink back tears that threaten to spill over; I refuse to cry. I will not give that _thing_ the satisfaction of knowing that he has just snapped something in me that I'm not sure can ever be fully repaired.

The blood isn't coming as fast now after the fourth or fifth time; I think it might be starting to scab over. Can't have that now can we? Taking the glass in my left hand, I gasp as I rake it through the skin. Within seconds more blood bubbles to the surface. It drips off my fingers and pools in my palm. I put my hand to the wood slowly this time and keep it there, letting red liquid slide down the wall. When I pull away there's a wet handprint to mark the spot.

I feel like a child playing with bright red finger-paints. Another few smears, then another (pain-filled) cut. Repeat.

I can't do this much longer. It hurts so much, and I'm starting to get dizzy and I'm _scared_. Really, truly scared- maybe more than I've ever been in my entire life. But the creature behind the wall is all but silent. Maybe I've placated it for now. Maybe I can be rid of it forever. I simply can't keep doing this though.

But…do I have a choice? I glance from my hands to the wall and back again. No, I don't have a choice. I slash my hand a third time (or is it a fourth? The pain is making it all run together) and close my eyes for a second after another wave of vertigo hits. Then I hear a thud and think I must have passed out for a few minutes because when I open them again I'm on the cold cement floor, the blood on my skin is almost completely dry, and I'm sure my little 'donation' wasn't enough.

As I sit up, the creature only confirms my fears. _Better hurry Matthew. Better run before the wall dries completely. Because you don't want to know what will happen if it does. Two hours._

How? I don't have enough blood in my entire body to keep the wall wet. So what can I do? I can't use the life fluid of animals, especially when the demon can get in my head and know if I'm lying to it. That means getting it from a hospital is out too- their blood isn't fresh enough. Think Mattie. It needs the blood of Canada… but does that necessarily mean literally _me_ Canada? Or someone _from_ Canada?

NO! No no no no. That will _never_ happen! Not in a million years. I can't…_murder_ my people. Kill them to save them from _it_. The mere thought makes me slam my head into the wall as if I could physically knock it out of my mind. In hindsight that probably wasn't the best idea after having just woken up from passing out from blood-loss.

I only have two hours before life as we know it comes to a screeching halt, and I have to do something! Wow, I'm starting to sound like Alfred here. Wait; Alfred! I could call him. Maybe he'll know what to… no. This is my problem, not his. I can't drag him into this as terrifying as it is to be so completely alone.

So I have two options. One: do nothing and hope the demon is bluffing. Not gonna happen. Option two: go and…and…gosh, I can't even think it.

Is there anything else? Two hours. Two hours. I have two hours. What else can I do in two hours? I run through hundreds of possibilities in my head, each one more ridiculous than the last. In the end I'm forced to come to a conclusion- the conclusion I knew I'd end up at, but the one I was hoping would never be true. _Nothing. _I can't believe I'm thinking this, but there isn't one thing I can do to stop this except…

Kill someone.

I, Matthew Williams, am going to leave this house an innocent man and come back a murderer.

**oOo**

**And end chapter 1! **

**This is my first Hetalia fanfiction, so let me know if I have Canada in character. I want to know what you think. Was it silly? Should I even continue it? Seriously, flame away if that's what this thing deserves, but I can't know how to make it better unless you tell me.**

**By the way, the idea of this fanfic was based (very very loosely) on something else. Kudos to anyone who can guess what it is, but I'll tell you all later anyway if no one gets it.**

**Love,**

**earth warrior**

******P.S. Insert witty disclaimer.**


	2. Chapter 2

It's nine 'o clock when I finally leave the house. I have an hour and forty five minutes. I've thought most of this through. That's awful you know. Premeditated murder. I must have gone insane sometime in the past few hours.

I can't kill someone on the street. By the time I get home their blood will be cold and stagnant. So I'll have to kidnap them and bring them back to my house first. I take the car around the worst parts of the city looking for the right person. I feel like I'm playing God here, deciding whose life I'll take tonight and whose I'll spare. I'm shaking so hard I can hardly drive straight.

Eventually, after a full half hour of meandering down dark city streets at a snail's pace, I spot someone. It's a man; he looks like he couldn't be any older than thirty and he's laying asleep on a bench near the bus stop. He has a backpack clutched to his chest with one arm, and an empty bottle of beer in his other hand. A classic hobo. No one will miss him, or at least that's what I keep trying to tell myself. I'm mostly just trying not to think too hard about what I'm going to do.

I park on the side of the road and get out. I open up the trunk; my house is only five minutes away so there will be plenty of air for him in there.

Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the bench. There's no one else around for a mile in either direction down the street. It's getting cooler out, nothing like it'll be later in the winter, but I can see my breath in the air. I come right up next the bench and lean over. "Hello?" No reply. I clear my throat and try again. "Excuse me sir? Are you awake?" He doesn't move.

Oh well. Maybe this will be easier than I thought. I put one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. It takes me two tries to lift him; he may be a hobo, but that sure doesn't mean he's light. He must be at least eight inches taller than me and about one hundred and fifty pounds heavier. It takes a good deal of straining and I nearly drop him a few times, but thankfully I'm a lot stronger than most humans. I manage to hoist him into my arms but I don't get any more than one step before his eyes suddenly snap open and he hauls back and punches me in the eye.

"Ouch!" I drop him; I can't help it. I stagger back, hissing and putting my still-bloody hand to my face. It takes the man a minute or two to get back on his feet- clearly he's still a little drunk. "Sir, I was just going to help you get somewhere safer," I'm lying through my teeth, desperately hoping it doesn't show. "Being on the street at this time of night isn't a very good idea you know."

I can tell by the way his eyes glint dangerously in the moonlight that he doesn't buy my words for a second. "Yeah, right." He mutters, his words slurring some. He makes a clumsy attempt to lunge at me which I easily dodge. As he turns I see him pull a switchblade from his trench coat pocket, and I panic. Before I know what I'm doing, I've knocked the weapon from his grasp; it ends up on the street and far out of his reach. Then I grab him by the neck with both hands. I tighten my grip and lift him till he's dangling several inches above the ground. His eyes widen and he starts trying to kick me which I'm able to avoid, and he reaches up to dig his nails into my arm. His jagged nails break the skin, and I barely register more pain in my wrist as he tries to give me an Indian burn.

I'm not thinking about any of that though. His neck is warm and I can feel the blood rushing in his veins. It pulses faster and faster as he panics and thrashes. I picture his life like a black thread, one that I'm stretching tight. Its fraying and I'm pulling it tighter and his blood rushes faster. Just one wrong move and he's dead. It's…

It's…

_Fun._

He goes limp. "Aw crud!" I let go of his neck and he slumps to the ground, unconscious. "Please don't be dead, please don't be dead!" I kneel down beside him, placing a hand over his heart. There's a dull thud of a heartbeat, and I sigh in relief. "Okay, let's try this again, ey." I pick him up; it's a little bit easier this time because adrenaline is still coursing through me, giving me strength. I lug him to the car and glance around to make sure no one is watching. Miraculously, we're still alone. I put him in the open trunk of the car carefully so that his limbs aren't crushed when I shut it. Before I can do anything else, a silver glint catches my eye; it's the hobo's switchblade. Though I would rather just leave it here, I go pocket it anyway to get rid of the evidence.

The car wobbles when I slam the trunk shut. I go the driver's side where the key is still in the ignition and the door is unlocked. I get in, close the door, and drive away.

oOo

I get out of the car back home and immediately find that there's a problem. See, the hobo is heavy, like I've said before. I could barely lift him into the trunk five feet from the sidewalk, but getting him from the garage into the basement? Impossible.

But I have only twenty minutes left, so I don't think complaining would be the best idea at the moment. Instead, I run into my bedroom and pull a blanket off the pile laying on the bed (it's rainbow-colorful, painful to look at, and was a gift from somebody at least twenty years ago). I open the trunk of the car, not sure of exactly what I would do if he were to be awake- thankfully he's not. I lift him up, staggering under the weight, and lay him on the floor on the ugly rainbow blanket. Vaguely, I think that it's ironic that I'm using such a colorful, lively piece of cloth to lug this man to his doom. My lips twitch into a smile at the thought, but then I'm frowning again, appalled at myself.

_Seriously Mattie, this is not good! You're about to go in there and kill this dude. Even if he is a drunk and even if he did try to pull a knife on you (which, honestly, was pretty justified) he's still one of your people. Even if his death is necessary, it is still horrible and you should be mourning it, not laughing at the irony of it! _Thank you conscience. Sometimes it saves me from myself.

With another shaky breath, I curl the hobo into as small of a ball as I can, then gather up the corners of the blanket. Dragging him across the threshold of the garage into the house is easier than I had expected since the blanket allows me to simply slide the body over most surfaces. With one lift he's up the single step and in my laundry room. I drag him, walking backwards, through the laundry room, down the hall, and to the basement door.

I throw open the door with one hand and keep it open with my foot. Then I haul him through the entrance, and very nearly trip and drop him down the stairs. Somehow I manage to regain my footing, then take him down the stairs. One step at a time, carefully and slowly.

I finally reach the end just as he starts to regain consciousness. I can tell because he starts to move around in the blanket and I can hear his muttered curses and death threats being directed to whoever is keeping him captive (aka me). "Let me go! You…hey! Hey, whoever you are, let me go right now or I'll slit your throat!" I'm suddenly glad I took his switchblade.

"Sir? Please, sir, don't panic!"

He stops moving and is completely silent for a little while and I start to think he might be dead. "Sir-"

"It's _you. _You're the one who was trying to kidnap me earlier, I can tell by your squeaky little-kid voice. Then you strangled me! Back for more, is that it? You want a fight, I'll fight!"

I shake my head, then remember he can't see it from inside the blanket. As I hold his makeshift cage in one hand I use the other to nervously pull the knife from my pocket. "No. No, I don't want a fight. Just to talk."

He wants to believe me, I'm sure of it. "R-really?"

I suppress a sigh of relief. "Absolutely." I lick my lips and have to remind myself not to start shaking because I'm trying really hard (and failing) to convince myself I'm not about to… "Where are you from?" He's from Ontario, more specifically Ottawa- I just sort of know these things- but I have to ask anyway.

"Uh, I'm from Ottawa. Here on business."

"What kind of business?"

He growls a little when he says, "Nothin' you need to know. Let me out _now_."

I don't actually decide to start talking, but suddenly I hear myself say to him, "Nah…I'm bored with this, ey. Anything else you want to say before you have to go?"

"Go? What do you mean-"

"No?" I hear myself ask. I smile even though I don't know why. "Okay, then. Less talk, more action. Don't worry, this will be fun." The knife is out and I stab it through the blanket. Bone snaps. He screams in agony. I pull the knife out of his flesh and let go of the blanket. He falls out writhing and shrieking and holding the knife wound on his side. In my mind I'm yelling at myself, _Mattie! What the heck do you think you're doing? Stop! You're- you're going to kill him! _Oh, wow. I really am going to kill him, aren't I? I never actually thought I would ever… I blink and look down at the trembling, screaming, mass on the floor and I suddenly want this all to just go away. What am I doing, I can't kill anyone! What am I supposed to do about this _mess_? I don't have much say in it either way anymore though as it seems my body has again decided to stop taking requests. It's feels like I'm watching this sick movie from the point of view of the killer who just happens to look and sound a lot like me.

I start laughing. "You're so funny, you know that, ey?" We're right by the wall. Perfect. He's on his back so I kneel down and I clench the knife and drive it into his collarbone. (_Oh…oh God no…_) Blood squirts all over my already-stained I wrench it down his sternum_ (Snap! Crack!) _which is harder than you might think because there's too much bone to make a clean break. I keep having to stop and reposition my hands and avoid his kicking- somehow he's still alive after all this- and then continue pulling the knife down further towards his stomach and deeper into his body.

Eventually his chest cavity is completely sliced open. I dig my fingers into the crack in the bone and start to pry it open. "Wow, I didn't know all this was in here. Hey, is that your heart?" I reach in and touch the barely beating organ, earning another pained cry. "Come on, it's not that bad," I say with another laugh. I squeeze his heart as hard as I can and it explodes and my hand is drenched in tissue and blood. It's oddly sticky and thick and I dip both hands in it while the hobo whose name I never did learn lays dead on the floor of my basement.

I begin lifting handfuls of blood and innards and whatever else is in people's bodies and smearing them across the wall. When his chest is completely devoid of blood- in fact its almost hollow since I did try not to take his guts and other organs- I move onto his limbs, slicing into them and putting all their red liquid on the wall. When I'm done, I move the body into a corner and resolve to get rid of it tomorrow night.

As soon as the body is out of my grasp my eyes widen and I start screaming. I race up the staircase and slam it shut behind me. _I can't breathe I can't breathe I can't- did I really just?- Why did this have to happen? What did he ever do to deserve this? What did I do? And now he's gone and its all my fault and he was one of my people. My _children_… _

I wish I would just die! Nothing can ever be right again, not after what I've done. I can't even bear to think about doing this again.

_Good job Matthew. But he is only the first. _A voice hisses. The demon.I don't believe I'll be able to get rid of himfor a while. Letting my legs buckle beneath me, I slide to the floor. I put my hands over my ears as if that would block it out.

"**Shut up**!" Everything hurts and it feels like spiders are crawling all over my skin and into my hair and I'm yelling at him as loud as I can as if that would scare him into leaving me alone forever, "I _hate_ you! Just leave me alone! Go away! _Go away…_"

_Silly Matthew. Why? I did nothing. I didn't _make you _do anything. I simply… gave you a push in the right direction._

More than ever I desperately want to hurt something, I want to hurt myself for not being strong enough and I want to hurt to demon because what if…

"No you're not even real! You…I…why won't you just leave me alone!" I manage to push myself to my feet after several tries and as soon as I do I bolt down the hall to my bedroom (and the furthest room in the house from the basement) and collapse in the corner, bringing my knees to my chest and crying.

The night keeps running through my head over and over again. Play. I'm dragging him to the basement. Rewind. Play. Burning stinging pain as I smear my blood across the wall. Pause. Fast-forward. Play. "Sir, I was just going to help you get somewhere safer." Rewind. Rewind. I've never been in my basement before. Pause. Rewind. Play. I've never been in my basement before. Fast-forward. Play. 'Matthew…come here…' Fast-forward. Pause. Rewind. Fast-forward. Pause. He's from Ottawa here on business. Fast-forward. Pause. His insides, black in the lack-of-light, glisten. Play. And his bones make sickening wet snapping sounds every time I drive the knife in further. Rewind. Rewind. Pause. Rewind. Fast-forward. Pause. Fast-forward. Rewind. Rewind. Pause. Play. Stop! Stop! **Stop! **

I can hear it now, see everything just as it happened only moments ago. It was awful. It was murder.

And a small part of me wants to do it again.

**oOo**

Hmmm. That was angsty. I feel so awful for doing this to Mattie! And it only gets worse from here... Oh well. My next Hetalia story will be in the humor genere, that's for sure. On to review responses, cuz reviews are more awesome that Prussia (if that's even possible)!

To **I Brake For Bishounen Boys**: Dang, Little Shop of Horrors? Heard of it, but what exactly is it? If it involves demons and stuff though it can't be too bad. And thanks for the compliment; Canada is so **amazing**, but so overlooked and I tried to get his personality right. It failed epically in this chapter. Though for some reason, the authors who really get his character down the best are the ones who are actually from Canada. Go figure. Makes me wish I lived there until I remember it's way too cold (anything below, like, 60 degrees F is too cold, lol). And yeah, the ending was cruddy but that might be because it wasn't originally suppossed to be the ending. It was just getting way too long, as is this review reply/rant. Sorry. :3

To **ThisIsMyCliche**: Aw, I'm sorry to hear that. I'd offer to help fix it, but I'm not allowed to use the glue-gun or the stapler. Maybe some tape? Actually, when I read that review I started laughing hystarically for some reason. Your review made my day (er, night), so thanks! And as per request, the story has been continued!

To **Dead-Knight-of-Darkness**: Uh...yeah. Wow, you're good. I didn't think anyone would get it so soon, maybe it's just really friggin' obvious. The demon is a little bit different though because the monster in never actually talked to Johnny (at least I don''t think it did...). The two little dough-boys and nail bunny did that. Besides, Johnny has his own ulterior motives for killing people (he'd probably do it even if he didn't have to) while Matt has none. And they never really talk about how Johnny came to be the person we saw in the books. There are other differences, but that would take too long. And I'm glad you like it so far! Hopefully this chapter wasn't a major disappointment. :)

love,

earth warrior

P.S. Disclaimer: Yep, still don't own Matthew (or Alfred who will most likely make an apperance in the next chapter, by the way.)

P.P.S. Dang, these responses are really long... is that a bad thing...?


	3. Chapter 3

"A string of murders on the outskirts of Toronto has come to the attention of the police. Several bodies have been found in the dumpsters along back roads of the city. However, the killer's real MO appears to be in the fact that the bodies are almost completely devoid of blood. The victims are almost all male, and all are between the ages of 20 and 50.

"The police have not taken anyone into custody, but they are giving no word on whether they have any suspects for these horrible crimes."

_They are so stupid, aren't they Matthew? The killer is right in front of them and they can't even see it._ It's the demon again. For the past three weeks it's been in my head constantly, running a commentary of my every move, my every thought. I've tried to ignore it, but it's hard. Impossible really. And on top of all that it's seriously annoying.

"Oh, shut up!" I tell it. Kumajiro, curled up on the couch next to me, perks up and tilts his head at me in confusion.

"Who?" he asks.

I sigh. "I'm Canada, remember?" That isn't the answer he was looking for. "I'm not talking to anybody Kuma. Go back to sleep."

I scratch him between the ears the way he loves, but he wrinkles his cute little nose and crawls out of my reach, pressing himself into a corner of the couch. "You smell weird. Like… like that America guy smelled a couple years ago after the plane thing."

"You mean 9/11?" What does that have to do with…? "He was covered in blood when we got to his house Kuma. I'm not."

His nose wrinkles further. He hops off the couch and onto the recliner chair by the TV. "Yes you are."

"Huh?" I look down at my clothes. _Oh! _Oh, gosh, he's right. My shirt, my jeans, my shoes- all coated in a thick layer of dried blood. Upon further inspection I find that even the skin on my hands and arms is slightly reddish. Putting my hand (the right one, where the bandages from the first night should have been changed ages ago) to my head, I also find that my blonde hair is matted with the stuff. My face is probably smudged as well. I must look a mess; I must look scary.

I wonder why I never noticed it before.

_You were too busy keeping the wall wet to worry about trivial things like appearances. _

"I didn't ask you." I snap. It surprises me how much venom is injected into those words. It's not like me to talk like that to anyone, no matter how much I hate them. Of course, for an evil demon who forces me to kill people and who is always in my head and who _won't freaking leave me alone,_ I suppose it would be alright if I made an exception.

Kuma lifts his furry white head up again and yawns. "You're crazy."

Blinking, I stare at the television screen where they're showing a picture of one of the murder victims taken before his fluids were smeared all over the wall in my basement. I recognize him from the third night; he had a girly scream and sounded so _funny_ when he begged me not to kill him. Then I note my bloody clothes and body, and the demon who's saying something to me right now (but whom I'm tuning out as best I can).

And I realize maybe Kuma is right. Maybe I am crazy- genuinely insane. But somehow I can't force myself to see that as a bad thing. Instead, I laugh and tell him, "No, Kuma, I'm perfectly sane. It's the rest of the world who's crazy."

"If you say so."

_Ring ring! Ring ring! _Great, the phone. I haven't had anyone call me in a while. Even my government hasn't attempted to contact me, which is strange. I screen my calls, so I just decide to let it go to voicemail and see who it is and what they want.

"Hey Mattie!" It's my brother. Of course. I'm not in the mood to deal with him at the moment. I'll let him leave a message. "I haven't heard from you in a while. I thought we were gonna meet for lunch last Tuesday? Remember, we talked about it on the phone." I do vaguely recall something of the sort from before all this happened, I'm just surprised that he did also. "But then you never showed up… it's okay though! You were probably just busy." There was a slight pause. "In case you didn't get the idea, Mattie, I'm gonna keep talking till you pick up the phone. I know you're screening this call right now."

Dang, he does, doesn't he?

"Let's see…what to talk about…" He starts. Oh no. This isn't going to be pretty. "I know! Okay, so Illinois has been going on and on about that show of yours, Degrassi. She's _obsessed _with it bro, I swear. But she spent almost an hour last week ranting to me about how awful the last two seasons have been. Apparently Clara has been acting completely out of character. And she wants to know what your people could have possibly been thinking when they paired Dolly K and Sam. And by the way, why can't Conny ever get decent plotlines?- because he hasn't had anything lately except the one in season 9 where he was stalked by that lady he met on the internet- which was stupid. Oh, and about Leona-"

Alright, if nothing else, Alfred's good at annoying people into submission. I can't take much more of his blatant slaughtering of my (admittedly silly) teen drama. I grab the phone off the hook mid-rant. "Hi Alfred." He's so oblivious to everything, he'd never notice anything out of the ordinary.

"Mattie! Thank God. I don't know how much longer I could have gone on about that show! Illinois wouldn't know good television if it nuked Chicago off the map." His voice lowers and I know this time he's being serious. "Matthew, are you alright? I was worried when you didn't show up last week. It's not like you to forget stuff." Yeah, that's his job.

"Alfred, I'm fine. Really."

"Promise?"

"Yeah." Not.

"I heard about those murders. They're close to your house aren't they? Are there any leads? If you want, I can send some investigators or someth-"

"No!" The last thing I need is him or anybody else getting on the case. "My police have it under control. Despite popular opinion- no, despite _your_ opinion- the rest of the world can survive without the _great_ Untied States of America butting in." I should feel so guilty about saying that, even if it is true, but I don't. I think I've lost the ability to feel guilty about anything.

"You know I didn't mean it like that." He says. I can tell I've hurt his feelings a bit. "I'm the hero! But I'm also your brother. And what kind of brother would I be if I didn't help you out when some madman has been on a killing spree less than a mile from your house? I mean, I know you can't _die_ or anything, but still. Are you sure nothing is wrong? You seem a little…off."

Uh-oh. I better get off the phone now before I make him even more suspicious. I can't have him decide to come over here; that would ruin everything. "How many times do I have to tell you, Al? I'm fine, eh. I have half the trees this on side of the equator at my house right now in the form of paperwork, and Kuma made a mess in the kitchen this morning when he spilled a can of tuna all over the floor, but other than that there's nothing wrong." Both of those are true. I just haven't had time for all that paperwork yet.

"Great!" He almost yells, "My boss gave me the whole week off so I'm coming over!"

He's _what_?

"You're _what_?"

"Nu-uh. I don't want to hear any objections out of you. You totally owe me after you ditched me last Tuesday. I drove for four hours just cause you wanted to go to that place. Besides, its been forever since I was over there last."

I struggle for a response to that. "Huh? You were just here less than a month ago."

I can practically hear him rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "Like I said, it's been forever." He sighs then says, "Pleeeeeaaaasse Mattie?" Even from a few hundred miles away, his whining still works wonders on my resolve, but I've been dealing with him for nearly my whole life (a very long time, FYI) so I've gotten good at countering that. With excuses- the refuge of the overly-polite.

"No, Al. I think I'm coming down with a cold, and remember, I have so much paperwork I can barely fit it all in my office."

"That's okay!" I hear something crash in the background. America curses and I think he even drops the phone, and then he's back a few seconds later. "Sorry about that. Anyway, if you're sick I could bring some soup and hamburgers or something. And as for the paperwork…" He pauses, thinking, then proclaims dramatically, "I'll provide moral support!"

"Well thanks but-"

"Great! I'll be over in a few days!"

_Click._

_Beeeeeeep…_

"_If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try aga-"_

"Well. This isn't good."

oOo

I've been acquiring quite the mass of dead bodies in my basement. The police are narrowing down their search, so I've decided to lay low for a while. Only killing the lowest of the low, with no one who would ever bother to look for them, then keeping them in the corner of the basement until I could find a better place.

It's fine and all, but I'm quickly running out of room. And aside from that, the place is starting to stink. So that night I haul all seven of them into the trunk of my car- or at least I try to. They won't all fit, so I have to put three in the backseat and cover them with that hideously colorful blanket, which has become a customary tool for these little outings. Then I hop in the car, resolving to drive much further away than usual, just to throw the police off track.

Things are going well. I know what I'm doing now and I'm not constantly worried about getting caught and I don't have to go cry in a corner for three hours after killing someone anymore. The fear and horror I felt before is completely gone. I realize now that those were silly emotions to begin with. People are born and people die. That's life. I'm just speeding up the process. Call it population control, call it mercy killing- there are plenty of worse ways to die, and I'm keeping these citizens from going through any of those. And in a way you could say I'm even helping them. Those people I kill… no one cares about them. The only reason the police even noticed they were murdered was because I got careless and improperly disposed of the bodies. They're invisibles like me, which is sad. But they're losers, unlike me, so I don't care.

Besides what else am I supposed to do? I'm not sure what will happen if the creature gets loose, and I sure don't want to find out. Every time the walls get close to drying, I can feel it. There's this awful pain in my chest like someone set fire to my heart. If the demon is within mental hearing distance he gives me a quick rebuke about how dangerous it is to risk the creature escaping, and if he's not, that's okay because I know what he'd say anyway.

I'm brought out of my thoughts by the sound of a police siren and the flash of lights on the road in front of me. I glance in the rear-view mirror. A police car is behind me; I can't see its form exactly because its so dark, but there are other tell-tale signs, like the flashing lights for example.

I pull over to the side of the road, praying that he was going after the person in front of me. Unfortunately, luck isn't something I'm known for. He pulls up behind me. I hear the door open, then close, then I see a dark figure stroll over to my window, which I roll down. All I have to do is act natural and not draw any more attention to myself. That shouldn't be too hard- I'm Matthew Williams, invisibility _is _something I'm known for (or rather, not known for since most people can't even be bothered to remember my name.). Normally that would be a bit rage-inducing, but lately I've been more glad for it then ever before.

"Is there a problem, officer?" I ask sweetly, with a little half-smile for good measure as he leans down to my level. He's at ease almost instantly.

He returns the smile before checking his notes. "Well, I clocked you going 100 in a 70 kilometers per hour zone. That would be the problem, young man."

"Oh, dear, you're right!" I injected just the right inflection of shock and distress into my voice. Maybe I should consider becoming an actor- maybe I should have thought of that before I became a serial killer instead. Oh well. He writes down something on his pad, then tears off a paper to hand to me. I reach out to take it, but he stops suddenly. "What's the matter Offi-" I follow his line of sight straight to the backseat. Crud.

"Is that a… hand?" With practiced ease my knife is out and I'm bringing it down on his shoulder. He backs away quickly, so I miss. Before he could even think about drawing the gun I'm sure he has stashed away, I launch the knife at his neck. A direct hit! Choking and gagging, he rips the weapon out of his own neck, which is really stupid because all that does is make you choke on your own blood that much quicker. But hey, it's his funeral right?

And then he's dead and still bleeding and laying on the ground and, "Ugh! Great! _Now_ what am I supposed to do?" I have to get rid of these bodies, and now I have a new body on my hands, and I can't just let it go to waste. Murder for no reason is too cruel, even for me. Now I have to go all the way back to my place, use his blood (which, by the way, is currently spilling out everywhere and will _completely_ ruin my seats the second I get him in) then go back out to dispose of all eight corpses. And I still haven't done that stupid paperwork.

I pick the police officer up along with the knife next to him, "Gosh, you're worse than the hobo!" I open the door and maneuver him on top of the blanket, "Try not to bleed on the seats, eh? If it's not too much trouble, Officer." He doesn't answer. How rude.

Well that's okay. I won't talk to him either.

oOo

I'm back home again, and more than a little annoyed. Leaving the other bodies piled in the backseat and trunk, I haul the Police Officer through the garage and down into the basement. It's not so difficult once you've done it a few times.

_Back so soon? _

"Yeah, I had a little incident on the way. I expect this won't take too long, then I'll be on my way to go dump them somewhere." Hopefully that answer will be enough to placate the demon, at least till I can finish.

_Placate me, Matthew? And here I thought that you had grown to enjoy my company over the few weeks we've been working together. _

"And he has a sense of humor! An awful sense of humor at that. God save us all." It's difficult to bite back the sarcastic quips and biting remarks that come to mind every time I'm around him. So I don't bother to try- it's too much fun anyway.

_I believe it is too late to be asking God to save the likes of you. He has better things to do. _

Good point. I begin the tedious business of draining the corpse of blood. It's even more boring than usual since he isn't alive to provide entertainment.

_Matthew?_

"Hmmm?"

_Have you ever wondered what an eye socket looks like, with no eye in it?_

I pause. "No. Can't say that I have." Though the idea is intriguing. I've never been one to play with my victims, at least not to excess. I make no attempt to keep them alive for the sake of torture. However he _is_ already dead, and this _is_ really boring. Maybe a game would be fun. "Okay. Let's see… I'm going to guess that his eyes are," What's the most common eye color again? "Brown." Without looking, I pry open his eyelid, then carefully dig my nails under the eyeball. It's difficult to pry it out without completely smashing it like one of those Gusher candies. I twist it and pull at the same time till I hear a small _pop!_.I hold it up to the light. "Darn. It's blue." Kind of reminds me of someone… or something. Was I supposed to do something? Was something supposed to happen that I needed to… to what? Prepare for? Stop? It must be something bad because it fills me with dread to think about, even when I still don't know what it is. "You know, I wonder if these things will bounce, eh."

_**BANG! **_"Oh my…"

I spin around, dropping the eyeball in the process. Eyeballs don't bounce, in case anyone was curious about that. I look up at the figure standing in the doorway. They're silhouetted by the light outside, so it's impossible to see their face, but I can identify them easily. After all, whose the only person in the world who looks almost exactly like me?

"Mattie… what happened? That's a dead body!" Alfred neither comes down the stairs, nor tries to escape out the front door. He takes in the room, and me holding up the Policeman's body as best I can with one hand. "Th-there were more disappearances this week. You killed them, didn't you?"

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't?" I let the Officer's body slump to the ground. Most of his blood had already spilled on the ground or in the car. There wasn't much left here anyway.

"You would have to provide a pretty compelling explanation. But… why Mattie? How could you?"

His naïve stupidity grates on my nerves more than it normally does. It's a shame he can't be of any use to my cause, but the demon specified 'Canada' and he isn't Canadian by any stretch of the imagination. Too bad. "And how could _you_ just barge into my house completely uninvited then go snooping around where you knew you shouldn't have been?" He doesn't say anything. I put my hands on my hips, narrow my eyes at him, then say, "Well, you're here. So why don't you come in?"

"No way. You're crazy Matthew. I don't know what's wrong with you, but whatever was done can be, um, undone, right?" I have no idea whether the question is rhetorical or not, and I really don't care.

"I'm not crazy, Alfred. Get that through your thick skull. I'm perfectly sane and I know _exactly_ what I'm doing."

"Because, of course, every sane nation likes to murder innocent citizens in their basement, them stuff them in dumpsters! And what have you been doing with all that blood- the blood that _isn't_ in the bodies?" He must not be able to see the color of the walls from up there, especially since it's so dark.

A slightly maniacal grin crosses my face. "Do you want me to show you?"

"No-"

"Come here, Alfred."

There's a pause for about five seconds, then he takes a shaky step forward. I blink in surprise. I hadn't actually expected him to listen to me. Though as he slowly walks down the steps, I notice that there's something off about his movements, that they're sort of stiff and unnatural. When I finally catch sight of his eyes they're dull, unfocused, and seem to be almost dead. I realize that I've seen them somewhere before. No, not seen, I've experienced the same thing that's happening to him now; that first night when the demon told me to come and I did without even being aware of what was going on. It's strange to see, almost literally, exactly what I looked like at that moment. That night sealed my fate. This night will seal his. "You never could mind your own business, could you, brother?"

He clears the final step, then stops abruptly so I close the distance further. "You never listened to me. I told you not to come here and you didn't listen. Whoever had the bright idea of giving you that book called 'The Atmosphere' and told you that that's what the others were referring to, should be shot. I suppose that doesn't matter anymore does it?" He just stares at me blankly. "For the record, this is your fault, eh. I never planned on doing this. It's pointless and it does nothing for me and I have plenty of better things to get done and…"

I place my hand at the base of his collarbone. With a gasp, he blinks and snaps out of it like I had after touching the doorknob. But he doesn't- more like can't- move away. There's a raw fear that lights up his eyes and takes over his whole expression which is oddly out of character for him. I haven't seen him this scared since… well, let's just say it's been a while. There was one last thing I wanted to tell him, but I just can't remember what it is. Oh, never mind, I remember now. "…and by the way, I'm. Not. Crazy."

I give my brother one last smile…

And then I snap his neck.

oOo

Aaaannnnnddd... it's done! First off, mucho thanks to my best friend and Beta of Epicness (yes, that does deserve to be capitalized!), Victoria of the Funk. Go look her up in a minute cuz her stories are awesome. Especially her Twilight one, even if you can't stant Twilight.

Second, yes I realize that the with Mattie 'killing' Alfred is a little cliche, but the motives were much different than usual (i.e. he didn't just snap and decide to kill him, it was more a result of circumstance and Alfred's obliviousness) so hopefully that makes it slightly less cliche. By the way, in case anyone was confused, he's not really dead. You can't kill a nation just by breaking their neck; it would take a lot more than that. Sorry Matt, better luck next time!

Third, can anyone say SEQUEL? Maybe. Probably. Within the next month or two. Just a one or two-shot though.

Fourth, if I got any info wrong, let me know. Like, for example, are all Canadian police called Mounties? What the exactly _is_ a Mountie? And do you guys go by kilmoeters per hour or miles per hour or something else entirely? And is it spelled 'eh' or 'ey'? Victoria of the Funk looked that last one up, but if anyone knows for sure it'd be helpful.

Fifth, review replies!

To **I Brake For Bishounen Boys: **Just looked up Little Shop of Horrors and it was amazing! Gosh, so morbid and with great music to boot. Hard to imagine that this dude also did The Little Mermaid. And I'm glad you liked the previous chapter. I know you're not exactly a huge fan of Alfred (if your stories are any indication- though the ones I read are pretty friggin awesome, and just prove my theory about Canadians from the last review reply!) but I thought it was necessary to bring him in. Felt really bad about 'killing' him off though. :(

To **ThisIsMyCliche: **Heh, worse indeed. And I wouldn't go calling him insane to his face or there might be a problem! Yeah, who wouldn't feel bad for him after all this? Gosh, we authors abuse these characters way too much. Except you, writer of happy PruCan fluff, who doesn't contribute to the misery of fictional characters and who can expect a review on that story very soon!

To** littlemissy3: **Ummm... oops. I guess that really wouldn't work too well now, would it? Sorry 'bout that, but the genere was 'horror.' But that's what sequels are for: to make everything better! :D

To **Victoria of the Funk:** Hahahaha! Too late, Malachi! The awesome Dead-Knight-of-Darkness beat you to it! And I still can't believe you told Brandon about that. Now he thinks I'm crazy(er)! Thanks again for beta-ing, even though I now have to go back and change 'eh' to 'ey' in the first two chapters! XD

Love,

earth warrior


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